


Where Loyalties Lie

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Galra!Keith, M/M, and the word of the day is regret!, im so ashamED, same with the warnings, sniper!lance, the rating is subject to change, this was written because i lost a bet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There were whispers spreading through the ranks that the Lions of Voltron had been spotted; that they were actively attacking Galran patrols and murdering all those who got in their way.Keith didn’t believe these murmurs, of course. They were only the passing gossip of bored sentries who were too lazy to pass the time training, as they should’ve been. These rumors were weakness, and all those that were spreading them deserve to spend the month on sanitation duty, scrubbing the restrooms and cleaning the dishes until they were sparkling and they could see their reflections as clear as in a mirror.They didn’t deserve public execution.





	1. Propaganda and Rhetoric

There were whispers spreading through the ranks that the Lions of Voltron had been spotted; that they were actively attacking Galran patrols and murdering all those who got in their way.

Keith didn’t believe these murmurs, of course. They were only the passing gossip of bored sentries who were too lazy to pass the time training, as they should’ve been. These rumors were weakness, and all those that were spreading them deserve to spend the month on sanitation duty, scrubbing the restrooms and cleaning the dishes until they were sparkling and they could see their reflections as clear as in a mirror.

They didn’t deserve public execution.

Keith glared down at the holopad in his hand, and the soldiers marching past him idly wondering if he would finally be the first one to manage to burn a hole into something by sheer force of will. Maybe if he blinked hard enough at the orders scrolling across the screen, they would change, Keith hoped, a knot beginning to form in his stomach. Because if what he was reading was to believed, he would have to execute eighteen of his most treasured pilots come the dawn of the next day cycle.

And a loss of so many of his hand-picked soldiers? That was just unacceptable.

~~~

Apparently it _was_ acceptable. Because all of his hastily requested audiences he had tried to make with Sendak had been denied, and as according to Sendak’s orders, eighteen of his soldiers had been shot, their executions publicly broadcasted across the galaxy. The justification was artfully glossed over, and nobody even questioned the brief statement that they had been planning to desert. It was maddening.

As always, the broadcasts were ended with a speech from Sendak, proclaiming the success of the Galra empire and praising the power that they now held over the galaxy core planets and moons. A roar of assent echoed through the clearing, voices filled with pride and jubilation filling the crowd and inspiring an almost childlike joy in the soldiers; according to Sendak, traitors had been purged from their midst, and they were safe from any threatening powers. What wasn’t to celebrate?

Keith gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and bore it with his head held high and back ramrod straight, his expression stony and unreadable. In the end, he didn’t care about any of the empty rhetoric that the speeches carried, or any of the propaganda that was carefully hidden in speeches that spoke only of the victories of the Galra empire and none of their shortcomings or indignities. 

He didn’t care about any of the uppity galas he was obligated by his rank to attend, full of other high ranking officers that hadn’t seen a day of combat in their lives. After all, if they had actually fought in any wars, none of them would be spinning tales of the glory that war hold. 

War wasn’t glorious.

War was the senseless murder of people who didn’t even properly understand what they were fighting for; the screams of soldiers waking from nightmares filled with the nameless faces of all those they had slaughtered; the broken hearts of those who had to live without their loved ones that had died in the service of an unfair government. No, war wasn’t glorious at all, and Keith hated all those who claimed it was with a burning passion.

Of course, that meant that Keith hated everyone, not that he really minded.

He hated everyone, that is, except for his squadron members. When he had been promoted, and allowed the luxury of building his own team, he had taken months to choose his members. Long, long, months of arduous, boring work, finding all of the hidden talents that were wasted in the Academy. 

They had become more than just his subordinates, they had become his family. And now, eighteen of them were condemned, shot ( _murdered_ ), and already forgotten, as he had watched and done nothing. 

Well, they had recruited Keith because they had called him stubborn, driven by instinct, and loyal to a fault. On paper, the perfect soldier, practically born to soar through the ranks and land a spot as an officer. Well, to be fair, Keith was loyal. It just wasn’t to the Galra cause.

He had told Sendak that all he cared for were his soldiers, during his promotion ceremony. Sendak had laughed, clapped his on the shoulder, as if Keith had been joking. 

Sendak would come to regret that he hadn’t broken Keith’s spirit when he had had the chance.

~~~

Lance jumped out of his Lion, a smug smirk stretching from ear to ear. He made a beeline for Hunk, already taking off his helmet and shouting his exuberance, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. Hunk followed suit, stumbling out the mouth of the Yellow Lion, still dazed from his first flight. 

“Hunk, my man! Congratulations, you’ve officially made it through your first non-simulation mission! And without throwing up too… I, for one, count that as an accomplishment worth some celebration!” Lance shouted.

Hunk snorted and rolled his eyes, the picture of irritation ruined by the beam that slowly made its way onto his face. 

Pidge approached at a sprint, a sparkle shining in their eyes that meant they were considering tearing apart the Yellow Lion to find out what exactly made it different from the rest of the Lions. Shiro jogged forward, that same excitement being projected from him. The only difference between Pidge and Shiro was that Shiro was better at controlling his curiosity.

“Well done, Hunk! You too, Lance,” Shiro said, slowing as he approached the two.

Pidge was already examining the outside of the Lion, noticing the subtle differences in shape and parts. After a long moment of studying the front left paw, she turned back to the newfound Paladins. The grin vanished from her face.

“So… Does this mean that we’re stuck here? I mean, not that this place is bad, but... “ Pidge said softly, trailing off. Silence followed her comment, think enough to cut with a butter knife.

Lance’s smile froze on his face. He hadn’t really let it sink in yet. After all, a week ago, he didn’t even believe in aliens. Now, he had rescued a pilot formerly declared dead, followed a gut instinct to a weird lion-shaped ship that apparently was, at least to some extent, sentient, flown into a wormhole, and awoken a space princess and her advisor that had been asleep 10,000 years.

Lance knew that if he let it properly register, he would start crying. It would be better if he just avoided that entire fiasco; after all, he was an ugly crier, and there was no way in _hell_ that he was willing to cry in front of possibly the two most perfect people he had ever seen, also known as Princess Allura and Shiro. 

“Hey, we could be like the space police! Does the Castle have a siren? Because it should _definitely_ have a siren.” Lance said, forcing his smile to return to it’s past brilliance.

Everyone groaned at Lance, and Pidge rolled her eyes. But, behind their complaints of “Lance! This is _not_ the time!” and “Lance, are you serious right now?”, he had managed to lighten the mood, and distract them from thoughts of what they were giving up to become Paladins. Ah yes, another victory for Lance. He was on a roll today.

But it was too late; a crippling stone of anxiety and worry had settled in his stomach now, his previous lighthearted mood forgotten. He was light years away from Earth, away from his family, and he wasn’t even sure what kind of thing this whole “Paladins of Voltron” gig was, or what it entailed.

If what Allura and Coran had said could be trusted, then they might be spending the rest of their lives at the Castle, stuck fighting a war that had been raging for millennia. And apparently, they were the only ones fighting against the Galra. That wasn’t even mentioning their lack of a Red Lion, meaning they were down two Lions. 

They were, for a lack of any other way to put it, completely and utterly fucked.


	2. Red Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance spotted Sendak through the lense of his scope. He steadied his rifle, and aimed carefully. 
> 
> _“One shot is all I get.”_
> 
> Lance forced his arms to relax, and took a deep breath in. As he released it, he gently squeezed the trigger of the gun.
> 
> Pandemonium erupted through the room, spreading like the waves cast by a drop of water, as Sendak collapsed, eyes still wide open and a smile on his face, marred only by a single, still lightly smoking, hole between his eyes.

Lance shifted a bit on his stomach, wriggling around, trying to find a comfortable position. He was _almost_ in the perfect position, optimum comfort, only a _little more_ to the right… Suddenly, the communicator in his helmet crackled to life, and Pidge’s voice came through. He could imagine the irritated tone, and winced in preparation for their inevitable admonishment. 

_“Lance! I can hear you moving around! Cut it out, someone will notice you! And if you get caught, I’m not coming to rescue your sorry ass.”_

_"As if I'd need rescuing,"_ Lance thought to himself resentfully.

Lance made a face and wished he could speak back to Pidge over the communicator, and explain exactly how annoying it was to be stuck in the same position for over an hour, staring down the scope of a rifle, (which, no, Lance still wasn’t over, it was a freaking _space rifle_ ), his finger poised over the trigger, waiting for an open line to his target to present itself. 

Allura had said that if they wanted to properly establish themselves as a force resisting the Galra, they had to make it so that nobody could ignore them. They had to make a proper scene, and light a fire under some Galra butt. And what could be better to catch the attention of the Galra Empire than to assassinate a high-ranking official? After all, it wasn’t as if it’d be hard. 

All of Zarkon’s advisors and officers just gathered themselves together every few weeks at some stupid banquet and spent the time chattering with each other and speaking only of the most trivial and, frankly, boring things. _“Oh, what a fantastic new cruiser you have! Is that the Double Turblex 20-23x? I heard it handles beautifully,”_ all said through gritted teeth with jealousy burning in their eyes, or _“Did you hear the news? So-and-so got promoted! And everyone knows how much nicer the uniforms are when you’re captain.”_ It was absolutely ridiculous.

Lance scanned the room once more, looking for his mark: some huge, one-eyed, brute of a Galra with one mechanicalized arm, hardly hard to miss; Sendak, or something along those lines. It honestly shouldn’t be this hard to spot some hulking mass of fur! 

And then, Lance froze. Because across the expanse of the hall, one Galra, decked out to the nines in shining armor (armor that, Lance noticed with dread, had the four glowing stripes of a _commander_ ), had his head angled upwards, tilted to the left, his ears twitching; looking directly at him. 

 

~~~

 

Keith stared up at the glint of metal sweeping the room, unnatural in the banquet hall. His experience told him that it wasn’t just another gaudy twinkling light of decoration, but the lense of a gun. He knew, _he knew_ , that he should have been shouting a warning, bringing attention to the threat and, in general, making an outrageous, unnecessary scene, but… 

He couldn’t help but wonder who the shot would be for. Yuurik, perhaps? Or maybe even Zirkonia. She had just been promoted to Captain. It wouldn’t be impossible. 

Whoever it would take out, Keith couldn’t help but almost _want_ it to be a mortal wound; he couldn’t think of even one person he cared about in this room. And if the shot was for him? Well, it wasn’t as though it wouldn’t be welcome at this point. 

Keith tilted his head to the left when the glint stopped moving, directly in his eyes. He knew that whoever was behind the scope had probably noticed him watching. So Keith smiled beatifically and nodded, before deliberately turning around and striding away towards the nearest servant offering drinks. 

HIs smile twisted into a cruel, sadistic smirk, and he lowered his gaze to hide it. Keith couldn’t _wait_ for the chaos to begin.

 

~~~

 

Lance’s mouth gaped open. The Galra had seen him and had just walked away! Lance still had a knot in his stomach that refused to loosen, and he realized that at some point, all of his muscles had tensed. He forced them to relax; after all, he wouldn’t be able to make the shot if he was this tense. The rifle would wobble and skew his aim. He swallowed hard, and clenched his jaw. 

But, who was that? He hadn’t seemed to be one of the other officials, bragging about their shiny new badges and tittering about their lives and their standings with Zarkon. The officer had just been standing there, alone, not even a drink in hand; he had just been observing. But that wasn’t right; he should’ve just been another figurehead, another politician playing militant. And he had just turned around and disappeared in the crowd. Had Lance just imagined it? No, he couldn’t have. This was- it just didn’t make any goddamn _sense_.

Lance could feel his breathing pick up, felt panic begin to edge into his mind and control him.

He wrestled the fear down and took a deep breath.

 _“Focus now, freak out later,"_ Lance thought grimly to himself. _"This has to be perfect.”_ He couldn’t fail this time. For once, he had to do something right; this was his chance to prove he wasn’t just another jokester, fun to have around but altogether useless in the end.

Finally, Lance spotted Sendak through the lense of his scope. He steadied his rifle, and aimed carefully. 

_“One shot is all I get.”_

Lance forced his arms to relax, and took a deep breath in. As he released it, he gently squeezed the trigger of the gun.

Pandemonium erupted through the room, spreading like the waves cast by a drop of water, as Sendak collapsed, eyes still wide open and a smile on his face, marred only by a single, still lightly smoking, hole between his eyes. 

 

~~~

 

Allura wanted to curl her lip at the state of Zarkon’s court and military. All of them had grown arrogant and lax, cushioned by the lack of revolution in the galaxy, assured in their positions in life. They were nothing more than shadows of real leaders, tacticians, soldiers, nothing like the war machines they should’ve been, nothing like the blood-thirsty warriors that had decimated her homeworld.

She clenched her fist and fought to keep her face neutral. She had known war would break out, all those years ago, and had still lost. Zarkon had, for the first time, beat her, had gained more control, more influence, more _power_. That was unacceptable.

But now, after 10,000 years unopposed, Zarkon had grown almost laughably complacent without a real opponent, and it was time for someone to show that not everyone was just going to roll over and let him control every star cluster and moon. No, it was time for someone to rear their head and fight, to gain control and show the galaxy a proper leader instead of a sock puppet imitation of one.

No, she mused, it wouldn’t do for her to let an old friend keep the upper hand for much longer- after all, he had had it for nearly 10,000 years, and Allura was ready to play the game, once again. However, this time? She would play for real. Zarkon’s reich would come to an end, and then it would be her turn to rule.

_“Well, better late to the game than to never show up”, she thought to herself. And this time, she would win._

Through the comms, she heard the panicked roar of the crowd that Sendak’s abrupt death had caused, and Lance’s heavy breathing as he gathered his bayard and sprinted from his position towards where his Lion was hidden. 

A predatory smile crept onto her face, unbidden, and her eyes narrowed. 

Allura mouthed the words as the thought them. _“Your move, Zarkon.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK WOW I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN FOREVER. I ACCIDENTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THIS FIC? If I ever take longer then two or three weeks to update, leave a comment or something reminding me this exists. Again, super duper sorry.
> 
> Also, this fic will be a bit darker than the show. Significantly so. And I think I might write a side ficlet about Allura and why she seems so... out of character in this fic. (i wanted to make her motivations much, much darker for fighting Zarkon. i'm tired of writing nice characters.)
> 
> So... Let me know if you want that Allura background! Thanks for reading!


	3. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all, morals taken from Earth were useless in space. Lance was doing the right thing; Allura had told him so, and he trusted her. All of the Paladins did.

Lance jolted awake, the memories of his dream still stark in his mind. His breath was even, sheets still undisturbed, and he was still in the same position he had fallen asleep in. His room was silent save for the soft music from his borrowed headphones, and with the sleeping mask, he was in perfect darkness. 

There was absolutely nothing to keep him from drowning in the swirl of thoughts taking over his mind, to get lost in the memory his dream had so easily brought to the forfront of his mind.

It had been so _easy_ , to pull the trigger of his bayard, let loose the shot, listen to the chaos unfold; his excessive anxiety that had plagued him before the mission had been _so_ unwarranted. But Lance almost wished that he had failed that first time, had been captured by that Galra, tortured, _killed_. Because Lance _knew_ that he should’ve been waking up with nightmares, should have been reliving those split seconds of panic, feeling the ghost of that trigger under his finger, picturing the faces of those he’s shot. No, more than shot, murdered, and all in the name of the princess of a world long forgotten. 

In only eighteen cycles, not even three Earth weeks, Lance had assassinated dozens of officials. After Sendak, Allura had given him name after name, target after target. Sometimes, it would be over seven in one wormhole jump. 

Lance had killed so many people, and he couldn’t even remember what all of them looked like, let alone their names. The worst part of the whole thing was that he didn’t even feel bad about it... not that he should. Allura had said that they had deserved their deaths, had deserved _worse_ than death for the crimes they’ve committed against the galaxy, all in the name of Zarkon. And she had said it all so vehemently, with such a fire burning in her eyes, that Lance was _sure_ that he was doing the right thing.

But all of Lance’s good intentions and all of the heinous crimes they must've committed didn’t change the fact that they all probably had loved ones; that they all probably had people missing them, mourning their premature deaths, and hating Lance for taking these people from them. 

An angry huff of breath rushed out of Lance, and he violently ripped the sleeping mask off his face, knocking Pidge’s headphones off of his head and sending them flying across his blanket in the process. He sat up, swung his legs off of the edge of his bed, and stood abruptly, running his hands through his cropped hair, a frown on his face and dark bruises under his eyes. 

No, Lance hadn’t been having nightmares. He’s been dreaming of it, but they… they had been _good_ dreams, and Lance had woken up with smug smiles on his face with every successful shot. After every kill had come a sense of sick satisfaction at having completed another task. He had done something _right_ for once; something Allura and Shiro had praised him for, had rewarded him for. 

He began to pace around the room. With every dream he woke from, he would jump to his feet and shock himself awake. What kind of sadistic, fucked up person enjoys killing, and feels _satisfied_ afterwards? He knew it was wrong. But at this point? Lance just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. 

After all, morals taken from Earth were useless in space. Lance was doing the right thing; Allura had told him so, and he trusted her. All of the Paladins did.

Besides; this was war. What he was doing was for the good of the galaxy; for liberty, and freedom, and in the name of all who had suffered, had _died_ under Zarkon’s rule. And if Lance had to kill people for good to win out against evil? So be it. Nobody ever said war would be gentle.

 

~~~

 

More rumors were spreading through the fleets by the cycle, each more terrifying than the last. Soldiers were saying in hushed whispers that their superiors were ordering more guards on their rooms, more sentries at the entrances and exits, and more reinforcements from the homeworld Garrison- and were dying anyway. Cadets that had been shipped out before they were ready were filling the hallways, clogging up the mess halls, stumbling over salutes and getting lost in the corridors, only adding to the general chaos and restlessness of the fleet. 

The worst of the rumors were about Voltron; about the bloodthirsty Blue Paladin and his merciless slaughter of anyone he so desired; about his uncanny aim, his blaise approach to killing and indifference to who exactly he killed; his targets ranged from military officials, to black market traders. They described him like a shadow, always watching, always looking for a new target, a new _victim_. It had every soldier on the ship jumping at the slightest noise, and each flickering shadow.

Just a few rotations ago, news had reached the fleet that a prominent, well-loved Galran heir presumptive to Zarkon had been murdered in her own diplomatic ship on her way home from a pleasure trip, found with only a single, cauterized hole in her chest. Her guards hadn't even noticed her absence.

Some said that the Blue Paladin did it for kicks, because he was bored and had nothing else to do. Others claimed he killed because it was the only thing he knew how to do, that he had been raised by the druids before going rogue and turning to the path of blind, bloody revenge. Privately, Keith though he was doing it on the whim of some whiny, over-privileged fledgeling brat from Erustrin who didn’t like the new taxes on their clothes. 

It’s not like it was the first time an Erustrin had done something reckless and spiteful. Honestly, the species should’ve been wiped out years ago, and their planet harvested for raw materials. Truly, the definition of a waste of time and money.

And, frankly? Naming their new group of assassins after some old, long-forgotten, outdated Altean fairy tale was just immature; it wasn’t professional at all. Ridiculous. 

However, it didn’t change the fact that Voltron was real, however ridiculous their name was. And, sure, there were some that were angry, full of righteous fury and a need for vengeance, but those people were the minority. Most of the Blue Paladin’s targets had been well loved public figures, or at least people whose deaths would cause a big stir, draw a lot of attention; people’s whose deaths had shaken the galaxy’s confidence in the Galra Empire and their ability to protect and rule. 

At least they had stopped executing soldiers for spreading rumors. It had been a waste of good cannon fodder.

Keith let a small smile cross his face briefly, and polished his weapon with just a little more force than was strictly necessary. 

It was about time someone shook things up in this galaxy. Maybe, now, things would actually be interesting. Who knows? Maybe the Blue Paladin would be up for a real challenge. And, if he was, Keith would be waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey I'm sorry this was late! This week has been really hectic, so I'm super sorry this wasn't up sooner. Let me know what you think, and if there were any mistakes!

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't betad, so if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies or literally anything that can be improved, let me know with a comment!
> 
> (You know this is for you. I still can't believe I lost the stupid bet to you. Jerk.) Everyone else, thank you so much for reading!


End file.
